The Enemy of My Enemy
by razztaztic
Summary: When their children are threatened, Booth and Brennan are forced to accept help from an old nemesis in order to keep Zach and Christine safe. Rated T for language.
1. Greetings

_This story requires homework. You should have read _On the Run_, _Once Upon a Summer_ and from _Roots and Wings_, Chapter 59: The Secret Lives of Parents and Chapter 62: Premonition. _

_Ready? Did you take notes? Here we go!_

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The morning chaos followed a somewhat predictable pattern. Last minute homework was printed. Must-have items of clothing were located. Hotly contested bathroom time was bracketed by loud arguments and slamming doors. Despite the volume, however, the noise was familiar and comfortable and by the time Booth entered the bright, sunlit kitchen, his children's bickering had subsided to their usual squabble over breakfast cereal. Seated at the island and dressed in the same uniform of crisp khaki pants and white polo shirts, they didn't even look up when he passed them on his way to the coffee pot.

Brennan, absorbed in something on her laptop's screen, only absently acknowledged his kiss when he paused at her side.

"I'll drop the kids off this morning." Booth leaned against the counter and sipped carefully from the cup in his hand as he surveyed his family. "What's the deal after school?"

Still busy reading, Brennan's voice was distracted when she answered.

"I'm picking Zach up this afternoon. He's going to spend the rest of the day with me at the lab -"

"Because he has a crush on Cam!"

"I do not!"

Christine's teasing jibe brought a dull red flush to the 10-year-old's cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as, with the instinct of an older sister, she realized triumphantly that she'd hit a tender spot.

Unnoticed by either child, Booth and Brennan exchanged an amused smile over their heads.

"Zach has a crush on Cam!" Christine sang, and then added insult to injury when she leaned close, pursed her lips and made several loud, smacking kissing noises. "Zach has a crush on Caaaa-am!"

"No, I don't! Shut up!" The heat from her brother's face could have melted snow. He gave her a shove that almost pushed her out of the chair.

Undeterred, Christine simply laughed and made more kissing noises. "Zach has -"

"Chris." Booth took pity on his son's burning embarrassment and silenced the taunting with one syllable. His added look of warning closed Christine's mouth for good as he changed the subject. "What are you doing after school?"

She shrugged and took another bite of her breakfast. "Soccer practice. And then we're going to Emma's."

Booth and Brennan responded with the same look of alarm.

"Who's driving?"  
"Who's providing transportation?"

"Mrs. Reese is picking us up from practice." There was no need to question their concern. "And she said she'd drop me off here when she came back for Petra."

"If something comes up and she can't," Booth told her seriously, "call me. I'll swing by."

Christine accepted the instructions with a nod as she slid out of her chair and carried her now-empty cereal bowl to the sink. When Zach did the same, Booth opened the dishwasher in a pointed hint and downed the rest of his coffee.

While they gathered their belongings in preparation for leaving, he kissed Brennan again and added a squeeze of one hip.

"Got time for lunch today?"

The laptop closed with a snap. "Possibly. May I call you?"

"Sure."

After one more kiss and two brief hugs and "Bye, Mom!," the house emptied.

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At 9:45 am, Booth returned to his office from a meeting. His admin held out a pink message slip.

"Dr. Brennan said she would be at the diner at 11:30, sir."

"Good, thanks."

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Several blocks away, a lab employee Brennan didn't recognize stopped in the door of her office.

"Dr. Brennan? Your husband left a message for you. He said he'd meet you at the diner at 11:30."

Brennan looked at the blank screen of the cell phone that lay on her desk.

"Why didn't he call me directly?"

The woman was already walking away. "No idea. I'm just the messenger."

Brennan stared at her phone a minute longer, then shrugged and went back to her work.

Promptly at 11:30, she slid into a chair at an empty table inside the familiar little diner. The waitress was there almost immediately, smiling with the ease of long acquaintance and after a brief discussion, set down two napkin-wrapped place settings of silverware. She was back and pouring two cups of coffee when Booth arrived.

There was no need for menus. As the server walked away with their orders, Booth stretched one long arm over the back of the vacant chair on his left.

"What a morning," he groused. "I'm glad you decided you could do lunch. It gave me something to look forward to."

Elbows on the table, Brennan blew a soft breath across the hot liquid in the cup she held in both hands. "Your message reminded me that I neglected to eat breakfast this morning. Lunch seemed a good idea."

Booth reached for his own coffee. "What message?"

Glass clinked against Formica when Brennan set her cup down. "The one delivered to me. Why didn't you call my cell instead of using the lab's general number?"

A puzzled frown carved wrinkles in Booth's forehead. "I didn't call you, you called me. Darla told me when I got back from a meeting."

Brennan shook her head. "No, I didn't. You called me. I -"

"Glad you could both make it."

A lean figure slipped in behind Brennan and pulled out the empty seat beside her. Harland's expression showed cool amusement when his new companions stared at him in shock and, in Booth's case, a sudden dose of fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he bit out, his anger growing when Harland raised one finger at the waitress and mouthed the word _coffee._ "I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again."

Harland leaned back and, just for the fun of it, laid one arm along the back of Brennan's chair. He wore a battered, well-washed denim jacket over a black cotton t-shirt and the almost scruffy garments helped him blend in with the workers from a nearby construction site who made up most of the diner's lunchtime crowd. Close to Brennan in age, his boyish features made him look a decade younger - until, that is, you looked into the cold, flat grey eyes.

"Well, technically you told Keith," he corrected, as Booth's face tightened dangerously. "But I got the message."

"What do you want?"

The harsh demand came from Brennan, after a brief pause when the waitress returned with Harland's coffee and their previously ordered food.

Harland opened his jacket to reveal the edge of a yellow envelope sticking out of an inside pocket. He pulled it out and then removed several black and white photos.

"I need to know if you recognize any of these men."

Booth gave the four grainy images a cursory glance. Obviously taken without the subject's knowledge, they each showed a different man sitting behind the wheel of a plain, nondescript vehicle.

"Why would we?"

Harland left the photos on the table. "Just thought I'd check . . . since they've been watching your kids for the past week."

After one terrified beat of silence, Booth and Brennan immediately pushed back from the table and stood at the same time, seconds away from rushing out of the restaurant.

"Relax." Harland froze them in place with a hand on Brennan's arm. "The little Booths are fine."

"How do you know?" Her eyes were frantic.

He let her go with a lazy lift of one shoulder. "Because I'm watching them, too."

It was too much for Booth. Without warning, he reached across the table and grabbed two handfuls of Harland's denim jacket. Plates and cups rattled as he hauled the smaller man across the table and shook him. The other customers in the small diner gasped in alarm.

Booth ignored it all.

"You've got five minutes to tell me what in the goddamn hell is going on," he snarled.

One brave patron tried to intervene in the tense standoff. "Hey, man, what the -"

"FBI!" Booth snapped, without taking his eyes off Harland. "Back off!"

Harland stared back coldly. "You gonna let me go first?"

Booth shook him again. "Four minutes."

Neither man moved. Mutual loathing was etched on both faces.

"Three."

"Booth." Brennan covered one of Booth's knotted fists with her hand and kept her voice carefully neutral. "Let him go. We need to hear him out." She tugged at his fingers. "Booth."

Slowly . . . reluctantly, Booth loosened his grip until he finally set Harland free with a none-too-light shove that rocked the younger man back into his chair.

As Booth and Brennan slowly sat down again, Harland looked at the mess on his jacket caused by being dragged through Brennan's soup and then lifted his eyes to Booth.

"I'll send you my laundry bill."

"Stop it!" Brennan's dislike equaled Booth's. "I want to know why you're watching our children."

Harland made them wait while he dabbed ineffectually at the stain; with a grimace, he tossed the crumpled napkin aside and sat back.

"I promised Max before he died that I'd look after them."

"Why?" That answer wasn't enough for Brennan. "Why would he ask you to do that?"

"He seemed to think they needed watching. Guess he thought you might make an enemy or two." His shrug was deliberately taunting as he meet Booth's fiery gaze. "Hard to believe, you being such a friendly fella and all."

Booth almost came across the table for him again.

Brennan was having none of it.

"Stop goading him!" she ordered Harland. She jabbed at one of the photos with the tip of her finger. "Where were these pictures taken? How do you know these men are watching Zach and Christine?"

Harland pulled his attention away from Booth and focused on Brennan.

"They were taken outside their school," he answered simply. "My people noticed them right away - they never picked anyone up and besides that, they don't much look like they can afford the tuition there. They started showing up last Thursday, every afternoon, different guys but the same car."

"Get me the plate number," Booth ground out.

Harland raised an eyebrow. "Already ran them. Plates are stolen."

"How did you -" Booth's jaws snapped shut before he could finish the question. Harland's mocking grin caused a flush of anger to rise again beneath his skin.

Brennan drew Harland's attention again.

"That doesn't explain why you believe they're watching Zach and Christine. There are children from much wealthier families who attend that school. I don't want to wish for someone else to be in jeopardy but -"

"They followed your kids home. Well, not home," he amended, over Brennan's broken gasp of shock. "They followed your boy when that tutor of his picked him up Monday. Chris is always with that group of girls she -"

"Her name is Christine," Booth interrupted harshly.

Harland opened his hands in a 'so what?' gesture. "_Christine_ is always with her friends," he continued, "and so far nobody's tried to follow them but when Zach was tailed, my people called me. I've been at the school myself the last couple of days just to check it out and it smells. Something's up." He tapped the pictures as Brennan had. "First step was to find out what you knew."

Brennan's stricken gaze met Booth's. He immediately reached out to squeeze her hand.

"They'll be fine. We'll keep them home from school while I get a team in place -"

Harland interrupted with a contemptuous drawl. "Well, now that would be stupid." He seemed unconcerned over the growing threat from the dangerously angry man sitting across from him. "These guys," he waved a hand over the photos, "they're just hired hands. If they're not smart enough not to be noticed watching your kids, they're definitely not smart enough to be in charge. You want to know who is, we have to let this play out."

Booth's teeth ground together hard enough to be heard.

"My kids are not _bait!"_ With the last word, his voice rose to a decibel level just below a shout.

"No, they're a target," Harland snapped back. "You take them out of school and show up with cops crawling everywhere and whoever's after them is going to get spooked. Right now, they don't know we're there. We let them go, we might not be so lucky next time."

He looked into Brennan's tear-filled, frightened eyes. She was only marginally less afraid of the expression in his.

"Nothing is going to happen to your kids," he told her gravely. "I gave Max my word."

He stood up then, leaving the photographs lying on the table.

"Give me a couple of days and I'll know more. I'll be in touch." He brushed a finger against his forehead in an insolent salute to Booth. "Don't worry, I know where you live."

Only the need to comfort Brennan kept Booth from going after him. He reached across their forgotten lunch and held her frozen fingers in his.

"Take those pictures to Angela and see what she can do with them, okay?" He knew she needed something practical to keep her busy. "The asshole is right, we don't want to scare off whoever's setting this up but that doesn't mean we have to sit back and do nothing. Don't let Zach out of your sight this afternoon. I'll hang out at soccer practice. It's going to be okay, Bones" he promised. "The kids are going to be fine."

They both looked toward the door through which Harland had disappeared.

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_I've missed Harland. He's so much fun to write. _

_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep was a long time coming and restless when it did so it was with no real surprise that Booth found the other side of the bed empty when he woke again in the dark hours after midnight. Brennan was standing in the hallway outside their room, arms hugged tight around her middle, her head swinging left and right as she stared through the partly-open doors of first Christine's and then Zach's bedroom. Booth shuffled his feet as he approached, careful to make enough noise that she wouldn't be startled by his presence. From behind, he wrapped his arms over hers and pulled her back against him.

Christine was an invisible, blanket-covered lump but in Zach's room, one large pale foot could be seen poking out from the covers. It twitched as they watched.

Brennan inhaled a sharp, trembling breath. "I couldn't bear it, Booth," she whispered tearfully. "I couldn't. If they're harmed in some way- -"

His arms squeezed hard, cutting her off. The same fear churned in his gut. "Nothing is going to happen to them," he vowed, his voice a rough undertone next to her ear. "Nothing. I promise."

"Those men . . ." Angela's facial recognition software had spit out the identities of the men in the photos almost immediately. "They're petty crooks, that's all. They have lengthy criminal records but nothing in common with each other. Or with us. Their crimes weren't federal. There's no connection- -"

"Yes, there is." Booth interrupted her again, his jaw set in grim lines as Christine mumbled incoherently and rolled to her stomach. "They're connected by whoever hired them. That's who we need to find."

Brennan's head turned so quickly that she bumped his chin.

"Parker! We should call him . . . warn him . . ."

"I will, but Parker is on a tour bus in Louisiana with four other bands, including Billy's," Booth reminded her. "There's plenty of security around him. He's not . . ."

"Vulnerable. But Christine and Zach are." Brennan finished the sentence for him. "We should tell them what's happening. They should be on guard! They take their safety for granted! They should be- -"

"Terrified?" It was a continuation of a discussion they'd had earlier. "Right now, we don't know enough to do anything more than scare them, maybe for no reason. Let's just wait until we have more information, until we know what it is we need to warn them about. Nothing is going to happen to them," he promised again. "Nothing."

Brennan resumed her task of staring into her children's rooms, over and over, as if danger could be held at bay simply by watching them.

"Have you checked the alarm?"

He had, twice before coming to bed and a third time while she'd slept for a few fitful minutes. But he knew that wasn't the answer she wanted.

"Yes, but I'll check it again." Booth kissed her cheek and then left her standing guard while he padded quietly downstairs and checked not only the alarm but for good measure, the rest of the doors and windows.

She was in the same spot when he returned several minutes later. He drew her into his arms.

"Come back to bed . . . For me," he added when she automatically began to protest. It was unfair, he knew, to make her choose between him and their children, but one look at the shadows under her eyes and the lines of worry and exhaustion on her face erased any guilt he might have felt. He piled on ruthlessly. "I need to hold you."

It helped that his face was marked with the same signs of strain and tiredness. After only a brief hesitation, Brennan nodded.

"Alright."

While she settled beneath the blankets, Booth picked up the service revolver he'd left lying on top of his bedside table and checked that a round was already in the chamber. The menacing sound of metal against metal was oddly comforting as it ricocheted across the quiet room.

Brennan went willingly into his embrace when he slid in beside her and pulled her close. Her head rested on his shoulder, one cheek rubbing against the well-washed cotton of his t-shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Everything's going to be fine."

He would keep making the promise until they both believed it.

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The next morning, Christine pulled one half of a bagel from the toaster and smeared it with peanut butter before taking a seat next to Zach, who was already eating breakfast. Neither child noticed anything out of the ordinary about their parents.

"Mom, do you have any money? We're going to the mall after school today. Can I have, like, fifty bucks?"

Brennan had just reached for the coffee pot; glass clattered as she whirled around. "No!"

Christine pouted. "Okay, fine. I guess I can make do with twenty. If I have to."

"No, I meant to say that you are not going to the mall," Brennan clarified quickly. She stuffed the coffee pot back in its place and let her shaky hands hang in front of her, clasped together. "It's out of the question. You're coming straight home. Both of you."

"But why? We don't have soccer practice today!" Christine's plaintive wail took on a distinct whine. "Madison already asked her mom- -"

"CHRISTINE!" Brennan's voice rose sharply as she slapped the counter. "My decision is final. I . . . I am working from home this afternoon so I'll collect you both from school. And I want you to wait inside until I arrive. I don't want you standing around, out in the open . . ."

"Bones." Booth was beside her, his voice soft and calming, one hand spread reassuringly on her back.

Zach had almost stopped chewing as he watched the scene unfold. Now, with his spoon hanging in the air, he spoke around a mouthful of oatmeal. "What's going on?"

Christine wore a suspicious frown, too. "Yea, what's up? Is there a threat to blow up the world we don't know about?"

"Don't be silly." Brennan drew a determined, calming breath and turned away to put the coffee mug she hadn't used in the dishwasher.

"But . . ."

"It's time to go." Booth's tone was implacable and cut off any further conversation. "Zach, if you're done with that bowl, give it to me. You two go get your stuff. We're leaving in five."

They didn't dare argue; Zach quickly swallowed up the last few spoonfuls and dutifully handed the messy dish over while Christine tossed the uneaten portion of her bagel into the trash. Together, they headed for the stairs, leaving their parents alone in the kitchen. The low murmur of voices followed them out.

"What was that all about?" Christine mumbled as they hurried up the steps.

Zach could only shrug, equally at a loss.

The ride to school wasn't any more helpful. Booth was quiet, and if he kept a sharper eye than usual on the traffic around them, neither Christine nor Zach noticed the difference. When he rolled to a stop in the drop-off lane, he laid an arm across the back of the seat beside him and watched as they unhooked their seat belts.

"Don't give your mother any grief this afternoon, okay? Just do as she says." He shook his head when they immediately began to pepper him with questions. "I can't explain right now, but I will. I promise. For now, just . . . just keep your eyes open. Alright? Be aware of what's around you . . . and who."

They grudgingly allowed the subject to drop, said their goodbyes and, together, made their way up the steps and sidewalk to the wide double doors where a teacher waited to welcome students inside. They went immediately to the hallway where their lockers stood side-by-side.

"Well, that was weird," Christine said finally, as she emptied her backpack and shelved the books and papers she didn't need for for the next few classes.

"Yea." Zach performed the same task before a quick glance at his sister brought something else to his notice. "Chris," he said, his voice soft, his hands frozen in place inside his locker. "Look to your right."

She did, and found her glance snared by cool grey eyes. Harland's head dipped in a short nod of greeting.

Christine turned away quickly. "What's he doing here again?" she hissed to Zach. "I saw him yesterday!"

"He was here Monday, too," Zach said quietly. Their eyes met and held. "You think it has something to do with why Mom was so upset?"

Small, even white teeth tugged at her lower lip. "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck . . ."

"It makes good soup." Zach finished what had been one of Max's favorite sayings.

"Hey!"

Any chance of private conversation between the siblings ended when Madison appeared, Emma and Petra in tow. Other than a brief glance, she ignored Zach, as always.

"So, Mother said she'd be here around 3:15 to pick us up- -"

"I can't go." Christine slammed the door of her locker closed as she broke the bad news. "I have to go straight home."

"What? Why?" Cries of outrage and disappointment greeted her announcement and continued as they made their way along the crowded hallway to their first class. Zach trailed behind; outside the door of their homeroom, he looked back over his shoulder.

Harland stood in the same spot, just outside the small janitor's office, making no attempt to hide the fact that he watched their progress. When he caught Zach's eye, he raised one finger to his forehead in a mocking salute.

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_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

Booth waited until Zach and Christine were safely inside before he pulled out of the drop-off lane. He didn't go far.

Less than a mile away, a five-story office complex occupied a hill overlooking the soccer field behind the school. He pulled into an empty space at the edge of the parking lot, got out and dug through the scene kit he still kept in the trunk of his car until he found a small pair of binoculars. Then he settled behind the wheel again.

It had been years since he'd been on a stakeout but the tension and edgy vigilance came back immediately as he scanned the campus and its surroundings through the high-powered lenses. He and Brennan had chosen the school based on curriculum not security and now, looking over the open, manicured grounds, Booth cursed their lack of forethought. No guard. No gate. Nothing but a long driveway and the usual morning traffic: car after car pulling to a stop and disgorging students for another day of learning.

He studied each vehicle and its occupants and when nothing out of the ordinary tugged at his gut, focused on the road below the school. Three lanes, including a center turn lane, and on the other side, an entrance to a shopping center filled with restaurants, a drug store and a small hair salon. Not overly large but active enough to make it an easy place to hide in plain sight.

He'd been there over an hour, well past the official start of classes, when a pickup truck pulled up beside him and Harland got out, dressed in the plain workclothes of a school custodian. Booth cursed beneath his breath, then put the binoculars aside and opened the door.

"They don't show up until the afternoon." Harland managed to look both smug and insolent as he folded his arms and leaned against the dusty truck. "I could have told you that if you'd asked."

"How did you know I was up here?" The abrupt question was brusque and unfriendly. Neither man bothered to hide their dislike of the other.

Harland tipped his head in the direction of the office building behind them. "Security cameras."

Booth bristled with suspicion. "You tapped into them?"

The question was answered with a laugh. "Well now, that would be illegal, wouldn't it, Deputy Assistant Director Booth? I was just making a casual observation." The arrogant smile dared Booth to call him out for the obvious lie before Harland switched gears abruptly. "You get anything from those pictures I gave you?"

Animosity simmered between them as Booth stared back, his jaw hard. He was five seconds away from getting out his handcuffs, probable cause or not, when students poured out from the middle-school half of the building below, dressed in shorts and t-shirts. The faint echo of their laughter raised thoughts of Zach and Christine and had him reaching instead for the manilla folder lying on the passenger seat. As he handed it over, he frowned at the khaki uniform.

"You work at my kids' school?"

"No." No other explanation was forthcoming as Harland scanned the printed pages in the file with the practiced eye of someone who knew what he was looking at. "They've all done time but not together and not in the same prisons."

"I've already run them. There's no connection."

"Except who they're working for." The comment, so close to what he himself had said to Brennan only a few hours before, set Booth's teeth on edge. "I'll see what I can find out." Gravel on the asphalt parking lot crunched beneath Harland's boots as he walked away. Unexpectedly, he turned back. "I'm not going to let anything happen to Joy's kids," he promised gravely.

The reassurance was a deliberate double-edged sword and Booth reacted instinctively. "My wife's name is Temperance."

"Now it is." The flat gray eyes mocked him. "But I know where she comes from."

With three long strides, Booth was toe-to-toe with the smaller man. He used his greater size to loom threateningly.

"Oh, I know where she comes from," he bit out. "Max may have looked like a harmless old man, but I haven't forgotten what he was. I haven't forgotten Robert Kirby or Garrett Delaney and I haven't forgotten that he had two men killed while they were behind bars. I know what he was. And I know _exactly _what you are."

Despite giving up four inches and at least thirty pounds, Harland stood his ground. The hatred between the two men scalded the air around them.

"While you're doing all that remembering, don't forget I kept your wife and daughter safe when you couldn't."

It took a visible effort for Booth to restrain the impulse that curled his hands into fists.

"When this is all over," he snarled, "you and me, we're going to have a little talk."

"Oh, goodie," Harland drawled. "A party. I'll make sure I RSVP." He rounded the truck to the driver's door, pulled it open and looked over the hood one more time. "Why don't you just run along now, G-Man. Go on back to that big fancy office and that big fancy desk you spend all your time sitting behind these days. I got this."

His malicious smile widened in triumph as the contemptuous barbs hit home. He was laughing as he drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

The tension in the elegant wood-paneled office was palpable.

"So, just to be clear . . . you want me to give you permission to assign a protection detail to your children."

"Yes, sir."

Booth sat stiffly in an uncomfortable, low-backed leather chair, trying and failing to hide his scowling impatience as, for a second time, Hacker thumbed through the stuffed, two-inch thick file he'd been given.

"Because you think they're being followed."

"Yes, sir."

"By this man?" Hacker picked up one photo with a thumb and forefinger.

"He's one of them, yes, sir."

"But you don't recognize him."

"No, sir."

"Or any of the others."

"No, sir."

"And you haven't actually witnessed any suspicious activity around your children."

"No." Booth's fingers clenched into fists where they rested on his thighs. "I was at their school for a couple of hours this morning but I didn't see anything unusual."

"Hmmm."

The noncommittal humming set a muscle jumping in Booth's jaw. His relationship with the other man had always been rather edgy; it was more so now that Hacker seemed to think that it was his own jump to Associate Deputy Director that had paved the way for Booth's promotion.

Meanwhile, Hacker continued to study the pages in the file. "How about your kids? Have they noticed anyone following them? What are their names again?" He snapped his fingers twice. "Christine, right? Christine and-"

"Zach," Booth said flatly. "No, they haven't mentioned anyone following them. But we haven't shown them these pictures, either. We don't want to scare them."

"Hmmm." Again, Hacker turned back to the documents in front of him. "So basically the only information you have about this alleged surveillance comes from this guy, this Harland Parrish . . ."

"Harland Parrish." Booth spoke at the same time. "Yes, sir. He's the one who brought the situation to my attention."

"And he's a farmer." There was more than a hint of skepticism on Hacker's face.

"Yes . . . No." Booth shifted restlessly. "He's not just a farmer, he's . . . Look, remember when Bones was . . . gone . . . for a few months? When she was accused of killing Ethan Sawyer and -"

Hacker steepled his fingers together and placed them under his chin. "When she was a fugitive."

Booth's head dipped. "Yea. Well, this guy, he helped Max hide her."

"I don't recall anyone ever being investigated for aiding Temperance during that time."

"No." The broad shoulders rose in a diffident shrug. "We didn't . . . the charges were dropped and she was home so . . ."

"Hmmm."

"But he's dirty, I know it." Booth leaned forward and began pulling sheets out of the file, recognizing the ones he wanted even from upside down. "He has all this property scattered all over the country . . . See? Dove Hills. Starling Acres. Nightingale . . . Sparrow . . . Cardinal . . . Blackbird -"

"It's not illegal to own property, Booth."

"It's not just property. It's a network. I know it is. I haven't been able to prove it but -"

Hacker glanced up. "But you have traced the ownership of all these properties back to him?"

"Not exactly," Booth admitted reluctantly. "But look! Swan Farm. Lark Springs. Raven Hills. Bird bird bird. They're all connected!"

"Because they're named after birds?" Hacker's skepticism was back as he tapped a thin, stapled set of pages. "Parrish's record is clean. He doesn't even have a parking ticket."

"The son of a bitch is dirty," Booth growled. "I don't care what his record says."

"Then why come to you?" Hacker asked bluntly. "Why not stay as far away from the FBI as possible?"

Booth sighed and slumped back in the chair. "Because of Bones. Well, because of Max, really. He's got some sort of weird family loyalty thing going on. When I was looking for Bones back then, I found evidence that Max and Parrish's father worked together, before Max changed everybody's names and took the whole family into hiding. And Parrish as good as admitted that Max asked him to keep his eye on the kids."

"Why?"

"I guess he thought someone we put away might want revenge."

Hacker's chair squeaked as he leaned back. "It's protocol to notify the arresting officer before a felon is released, especially if there's a possibility of retaliation. Have you received any such notifications?"

Booth shook his head. "No, but Bones and I worked cases together for twenty years, sir. It's possible someone was overlooked."

"Seeley." The patronizing smile on Hacker's face made Booth want to put his fist through it. "People don't come after our families. It would be suicide. Not even the mob did that, back when they had that kind of power and they certainly don't anymore.."

"Sir -"

"I'm sorry." Hacker shuffled the papers back into the file and held it out. "I can't authorize bureau resources on this basis. If you ask me, this guy is just yanking your chain. It sounds like there's no love lost between the two of you."

With the meeting clearly over, Booth stood up, jaw clenched, and nodded formally.

"You know, Catherine and I should have you and Temperance over for dinner soon." Hacker's voice stopped him on his way out of the office. "I'll talk to her tonight, see what she thinks, and let you know tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Booth's grimace could only barely be called a smile. "We'll look forward to it, sir."

Back in his own office, he stalked past his assistant without looking at her.

"Hold my calls, Darla."

The door slammed hard behind him; he threw the file across the room, watching with savage frustration as it hit the wall with a shower of loose paper.

.

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* * *

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_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
